


Late Goodbye

by inkcharm



Series: Parallel Perpendicular [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blue Hawke With Purple, Canon Era, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcharm/pseuds/inkcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke doesn't make the conscious choice to eavesdrop, honestly. At least that's what she'd swear to anyone who happened to catch her. Or: Hawke wants to seek out Anders for a potion, and overhears his conversation with a mysterious associate from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely connected to "At Equal Distance" (but set before it).  
> Un-Beta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes made.  
> There are some angsty thoughts regarding a Warden surviving due to the Dark Ritual in there, but the overall piece isn't really angsty.  
> Fenris and Fenhawke are mentioned rather than making on-screen appearances.

„You can't just leave again.“

 

Hawke doesn't make the conscious choice to eavesdrop, honestly. At least that's what she'd swear to anyone who happened to catch her. In fact, her stride towards the clinic has been confident, open and straight forward. It's the middle of the night, the lantern isn't lit, but who's she to be deterred by that? It's not like she's just another regular customer. No, she's family.

 

Or something.

 

The fact is, Anders wasn't in the Hanged Man according to Varric, and since Fenris is having a case of being the most handsome but also most stubborn mule to ever take elven shape, she's come to find him at the clinic and ask for a potion. Not that she can blame Fenris. Anders took the time to point out he's not to be counted among his friend earlier this very week, and Fenris has also just successfully rekindled the romance they both know vexes Anders. It might be somewhat understandable that the elf would be loathe to approach the mage, admit the wound he suffered in their excursion this afternoon should probably have been healed after all, and ask for aid. That's just not Fenris' style, and Hawke can't even say she had no idea what she's signed up for. She's known for years now, and she wouldn't have it any other way, even if she'd rather have stayed in front of the fire with Fenris and their shared bottle of wine, and the slow reclaiming of territory lost to her for too long. A maddening pendulum finally on the upswing again.

 

Not that she doesn't want to see Anders. It's just that dear as he is to her as a friend, she's been waiting for _three years_ for Fenris to heal. Three years of growing paranoid over seeing him, always fearing he'd remove the red silk she tied to him that night so long ago, the small, secret signal to show his intentions. His choice and his alone. But it remained in place, and Hawke remained patient, steadfast in the knowledge that he was still with her, and would someday again be _with_ her as long as he didn't remove it. Had he removed it...

 

But he hadn't.

 

Hawke smiles to herself as she ducks into the corner next to one of the clinic doors. Up in Hightown, an elf with warm, dark skin awaits her, frustrated by the gash in his side that she won't leave untreated now that she's seen it. The question is just, is she about to interrupt something equally delightful for Anders, or have things with the Mage Underground picked up again after all? It would be a pleasant surprise, and surely both options would do him some good.

 

The truth is, Hawke is concerned for Anders. There's a rift between them that's grown over the past few years, because he's invested in his cause with an intensity Hawke can't begin to share or even comprehend in its full extent. She is trying to help the mages, too, is advocating for them whenever she can even if it means risking Meredith' wrath. But even being a mage herself, she doesn't burn with Anders' passion. Sometimes she wonders if she should. Sometimes she wonders how much of his fervor is still his own and how much is Justice bleeding into him more strongly. Hawke might never know, but for now she can do nothing but trust that Anders knows what he's doing and will turn to her with any trouble arising. Hawke’s unsure if that particular pendulum is swinging up or down. Up, she hopes, where she can hold fast and not let it slip down again.

 

Hawke leans closer to the door, slides it open just a little, just enough for Anders' voice to be less muffled.

 

„Did you even _intend_ to stay?“

 

He sounds conflicted, and whatever entanglement this is, it doesn't seem to be one with a happy ending. Ouch.

 

There's no response, but Hawke can make out footsteps, and a swishing robe.

 

She waited three years for Fenris. He can wait for a few hours if this is some kind of love story about to go wrong. Anders deserves kittens and blankets on the best of days – if he's getting rejected or dumped, Hawke may just pull out all stops and go for a pillow fort for the guy or something. Both to make sure Justice doesn't whoop someone's only slightly deserving behind, and to make sure Anders feels okay.

 

„No, I'm... I'm fine. There's just...“ Again, there's no second voice that Hawke could hear, but Anders responds to _something_ , clearly. Hawke frowns, and then nearly slams the door wide open when the mage continues with: „I'm not sure how Justice is doing. Are you still angry?“ He tries to sound casual about the question, but fails miserably, and it hurts Hawke.

 

As far as she's aware, their little circle just about sums up all the people in Kirkwall aware of Anders'... unique condition. She has to know now, has to see. With her heart hammering in her chest, Hawke pushes the door a little more, just enough so that she can peer into the clinic. A few candles provide some light inside, and she can only hope her pale face won't be all too obvious with the near pitch black of Lowtown behind her. 

 

There's a woman sitting on one of the examination tables. Anders is pacing in front of her, arms crossed, brows drawn together in a frown. But Hawke doesn't linger on him long, because the woman is... honestly, far more interesting.

 

No offense to Anders or anything.

 

She's an elf, and very obviously a mage. That fact hardly seems a concern to her, though. Her robes are blue and black with lines of white, the staff blackened wood with a blue crystal. Reminds Hawke of Fereldan Circle mages to be honest, except that wouldn't make any kind of sense here. The elf has long black hair, and because she's watching Anders pace, her pale face only occasionally turns towards Hawke enough to make out dark lines curling around her right eye and cheek bone. Dalish? Except that also doesn't look like any vallaslin Hawke's ever seen. Not that she's an expert on that either, but... well, maybe some people just can't be shoved into drawers quite that easily. Tattoos can be gotten anywhere, and Fereldan style robes could be acquired anywhere as well.

 

The woman shakes her head slightly after contemplating the question for a while. She looks tired. Sickly. Which would explain her presence here. Perhaps she's part of the former mage underground after all. Perhaps she's someone Anders knows from before. A fellow Circle mage, perhaps? He's never mentioned a lot of people from the Circle, not even the Hero of Ferelden, and Hawke never bothered to ask, the topic being a sensitive one. He's more willing to talk about people he met in Amaranthine. Sometimes she wonders if she should make enquiries in that direction, get some of his closer friends here. But then... it's not her place to interfere in his split from the Wardens.

 

The conversation seems to turn to less loaded topics from there, and Anders begins to examine the elven woman with careful touches and the soft blue glow of his magic. She never speaks, just gives him pointed looks or makes short, sharp gestures in reply to his comments. Once she makes a soft, breathy sound almost like a chuckle when Anders makes a joke, his tongue sharper and laced with more humour than Hawke can remember seeing in years.

 

She feels like an intruder. As though she's seeing a version of Anders he lost long ago, gently enocuraged to come out by an old, obviously close friend. Hawke feels the pit of her stomach drop away when a whiteblue glow spreads over Anders, as if his skin is cracking to let line shine through, and Justice comes forth.

 

But there's no attack from the spirit, and no alarm on the elven woman's face. She smiles as if seeing an old friend.

 

„How impolite to eavesdrop. And so crudely, too.“

 

For a dizzyingly harsh heartbeat, Hawke thinks she's been made. Until she's able to place the accent, and also realize that the voice is coming from behind her. So she takes a deep breath and lets the door slide close again. Fenris would be proud of her for not spooking enough to set something on fire, truly.

 

„I didn't think I'd see you again so soon. Your business with the Crows isn't over then?“

 

Zevran chuckles, dark and rich, and Hawke understands the appeal. She really does. But his skin is too cinnamon, not enough olive for her taste. His hair too golden instead of shockingly white. Alas. He'll make plenty other women and men happy, she's sure. The assassin leans against the wall some paces behind her, then actually glances at it and realizes his foolish error. Something sticks to his armor when he stands upright again. Lowtown's filthy like that.

 

„Oh, it's quite over. And since I answered so readily, I hope you feel quite bad about deflecting. If you wish to spy on your friend and mine, I could instruct you in more sophisticated methods than leaning against a door in plain sight.“

 

Well, he's got her there, admittedly. Hawke rubs the back of her neck. „So you have a friend who's friends with my friend,“ she observes rather lamely. Because what else is she to say? Denying that she was eavesdropping seems rather pointless.

 

Zevran grins roguishly – and oh, oh, she's going to have to tell that one to Isabela to prove that she is funny, damn it – and saunters clauser to drape an arm around her. Hawke can tell that his continued survival is owed to a fascinating mixture of dumb luck and charm, considering that he seems to have forgotten Fenris' nearly murderous fury from not so very long ago. And it's pure luck Fenris isn't lurking at the entrance to the mansion's basement with how impatient Hawke knows he's bound to be getting at this point. She'd rather not see the Antivan smeared across the ground, to be honest. He's quite fun, honestly, and Isabela would probably not be all that amused either. „Such a circle of friendship,“ Zevran muses, and Hawke allows him to steer her away from the door. Protective, isn't he?

 

„You gonna tell me what's going on here?“

 

„Not particularly, no. Just friends checking up on friends, because other friends just happened to be in the general vicinity otherwise.“

 

He might just hurt himself trying to deflect. What was that about honesty earlier? Still, Hawke decides to let it go. Well, alright – she lets it go mostly because the doors open behind them then, and the elven woman walks out. Zevran's eyes quite literally light up – and not just because elf eyes are really creepy at night. The strange mage has hidden her robes and staff beneath a billowing black cloak. She winks at Hawke as she slips away into the night followed by Zevran, neither intending to stay nor willing to linger.

 

Anders watching them from the doorway, holding a piece of paper in his hand and twirling it around. There's something wistful in his eyes, but also something determined. He shakes his head when she opens her mouth to ask. The mysteries of the night are growing, and no one seems willing to let Hawke have easy answers.

 

That damn bottle of wine is probably empty by now, too.   

 

Hawke sighs, accepting that just because she's become the central point of this little group, hers is not the only story her friends are involved in. And she appreciates that, really. They all have their own stories, and it's natural that they'd have other people involved in them, however unlikely that sometimes seems in the narrow confines of Kirkwall. It's good to see Anders still has friends elsewhere. And if he doesn't want to talk about them, Hawke figures she can forgive some harmless secrets.

 

She'll never know what the note said the woman left with Anders and Justice both. She never even heard Anders call the woman Surana, nor did her mind linger on the encounter long enough to connect the dots to unravel the woman's mysterious identity.

 

Somewhere outside of Kirkwall, though, Zevran breaks the comfortable silence. „He couldn't help you, could he?“ He glances at the silent woman next to him out of the corner of his eye, smiling for his own sake more than for hers. Leesya looks tired and in need of rest, but he knows she'll want to leave the city well behind, to make sure she won't be recognized. With what she's planned, she can't risk anyone being able to piece together where her journey took her.

 

She doesn't tell him that after seeing Anders tonight, she's also sure she can't be connected to whatever he and Justice have planned either. Where she goes, she needs to be inconspicuous. No new attention drawn.

 

The truth is that Leesya had to see them, for she considers both of them her friends. Asking Anders for help with her health was just a ruse, and she's certain Zevran knows as well as she does that the Calling is far beyond of Anders' healing abilities. She doesn't quite hear it, not yet. But sometimes she wonders if the very fabric of the world knows that she's supposed to be dead, that she was spared by Morrigan's ritual alone. Still being alive feels selfish. Zevran is teaching her to embrace being more selfish occasionally.

 

For now, she answers Zevran's question with a shrug, and nudges him in the side with a soft smile. Better to get him to talk about that beautiful Champion a little while longer. With where she's headed, she wants to carry as much of his voice with her as she possibly can.

 

It will allow her to keep pressing on, to save herself instead of saving others, just this once. Anders wanted her to stay, and Leesya can't deny feeling a tug of responsibility, of genuinely wanting to help. But he'll have to look for aid from his Champion. Leesya has passed the torch of playing hero along long ago. Survival is her thing now, apparently.

 

A pendulum slows on the upward swing. Leesya knows the speed and power with which it will rush down after hanging motionless for a breathless moment, and knows the Champion will hold on tight and ride the pendulum upwards again with all those close to her, unwilling and unable to drop a single one of them.

 

Leesya, meanwhile, faces the impossible task of dodging the downswing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
